My name is Matthew

“The money… the money, Steven. Food on the table, shoes for the kids, clothes. Emma is forever losing her school ties.” The words of worried wife Pippa, looking at her husband as he sits in dismay. Steven, the bread winner and head of the household, had been made redundant from his job as a builder. “I know, but the bank turned us down. Not that big of a concern, apparently. Builders get taken on all the time, they said.” Steven replies wearily, running his hands through his hair and across his face, rubbing his eyes as if that would make the nightmare go away. “The concert! We hadn’t given it a second thought. Brendan’s concert, we said we’d get him the money for his violin. This is his chance, his chance for him not to turn out like you and me.” Steven nods knowingly in agreement- bricks and mortar had been good to him, but he knows that isn’t what he wants for his son. Pippa, as much as she wanted to, couldn’t work- cystic fibrosis had taken her strength at a young age and it continued to progress. She had been quite the artist in her time as well, but that too had to be let go. Steven vowed to look after his family, but the cupboards were bare, his pockets empty and now, very nearly, so is he. Pippa retires to a kitchen chair in exhaustion giving a look that is as hopeless as the one Steven has in his eyes. Now, he is to say what he always says- “I’ll sort it”- as he gets to his feet, taking his wife’s hand- “I will”- instilling her with a feeling that is halved into hope and uncertainty as he grabs his coat and heads for the door.

 After laying the driveways of dozens of people, Steven didn’t have one of his own, as he stands at the curb, looking at his car that is parked on the street. The dashboard is littered with food bank coupons that he scoops up in great fistfuls, whispering to himself “I wish this was real money.” Pumping the clutch for all it’s worth, the car jitters into ignition, the engine fires up and so does Steven. Banging his hands on the steering wheel in approval “Yes! Come on!” he roars as he pulls away. Where is he to go that he hasn’t already been? Every building firm had turned him away, the bank had turned him down, the generosity of friends and relatives had ran dry. A credit card? “No, that’s not the way I do things. It needs to be something temporary, something quick.”- Steven mutters to himself at a stop light- a homeless man crossing the road catches sight of Steven’s miming mouth and with an outstretched arm, offers a compassionate thumbs up. Gingerly waving back, the light turns green and Steven’s on his way again. His grip on the wheel tightens, driving past numerous betting shops, pawn shops and second-hand car dealers- all of them tempting, all of them catching his wildly desperate eyes. A fiver on the 2:30 at Exeter with 20 to 1 odds perhaps. £200 for the tools in the boot, the car is maybe worth a thousand- all of this rattles around in Steven’s head like pennies in a piggy bank and that’s what they were effectively- pennies. Besides, with this all or nothing attitude, Steven and his family could end up like that homeless man, shuffling the streets with holes in his shoes. “That poor, old man…”- suddenly, the world’s worries are his own as well as the ones he has himself. Deciding to park up and leave his car, Steven begins to do just that- shuffle along the streets.

 The spring air is brisk and stinging, the sun doing nothing to warm those who dare venture out. Steven huddles his coat around himself, down on the streets that he had once seen from high above from offices he helped build- he finds himself in the financial district. Not a bookies in sight, but perhaps a rich financier will take pity on me, he thinks. This is where money is made, but not through cash in hand, no bouncing cheques, but numbers on a screen- Steven becomes consumed with jealousy, but more than that, anger. Anger for not trying harder, for not choosing a different path, for not taking a loan out to start his own business when he had the chance. Then, it occurs to him- a loan. Through chattering teeth and shaking lips, Steven addresses, out loud, what has been under his nose the entire time- “A loan, yeah. Not a business loan obviously. My credit is shot, but… but a smaller loan, yeah, yeah I could do that.” Steven finds himself delirious with excitement that he should’ve realised earlier- “I could buy Brendan his violin, Emma a new school uniform and Pippa… Pippa, I need to get her something that is worthy of all these years we’ve had together, for all that she’s suffered, for all that she’s worth.” Steven straightens his posture, coming out from the makeshift safety blanket of his coat. Suddenly, those buildings he had stood atop of didn’t seem so intimidating, his feet begin to pace and not shuffle, and the sun begins to shine a little brighter. Luck, fait, fortunate circumstance- who can say, but now, Steven is at the threshold of his solution. Not at the door of a high street lender, not a bank, but it resembles one- a glass and steel, high-rise structure that encapsulates honest, fair financial help. Here, Steven stands pensive and optimistic.

 Entering through the automatic doors, the warmth of the building washes over Steven, as if it had just exhaled breath and is now breathing him in like fresh air. He feels out of place, in his big parka coat, watching suited and name tagged people at work. Before he can give the clash in style any more thought, one of the suited people approaches him- “Hello, how can I help you?”- says a polite, tall, early forties, blue tied gentleman. Steven’s apprehension washes away- “Uh… yeah, I’d like to enquire about a loan.” The suited man gives a jovial smile and gestures for Steven to follow him- “Of course, right this way. I’m Paul. We can talk in my office over here, it’s a bit quieter in there.”- He gives a light, knowing and subtle laugh, like a man who knows his place of work. Steven follows him in, Paul shuts the double glazed glass door behind them, he was right- it is much quieter. “Please do take a seat. I’ll avoid the terminology and ask you what is you want, what kind of loan?”- Paul waits patiently for Steven to begin who is struck by his informal tone, finding it refreshing. “Well, I’m looking for a small to medium loan, I suppose. I’m Steven, Steven Broadhurst. My wife and I, we’re struggling to put food on the table. She’s ill, you see, and can’t work. I was made redundant by a building firm and it’s our kids who are suffering the most. But I would like to do something for her too, Pippa, buy her things, take her places. The loan is only temporary, but I want what it can do for us to last forever.”- finishing what he said, Steven looking boyish, sits waiting for Paul’s response which looks to be considered. “I tell you, Steven, we mostly get people wanting to fund a loft extension or a conservatory for their home and family. You want to go a lot further than that, in a good way, the right way. You want to put clothes on their backs and food in their mouths. With that considered, without knowing your credit history, from me to you, one father to another, I can guarantee you a loan of five thousand pounds. I’m willing to take that risk if you are.”- Paul laughs nervously at the end of his last sentence, but he meant it. Steven, astonished, grateful, taken aback- all the things that a father who can now provide for his family again would be. “Paul, I’m… you don’t know what this means to me, to us, everything that has happened to my family. I’m willing to take that risk too. Thank you.”- The two men get to their feet, both with outstretched arms, ready to shake hands and as they do, Paul adds “I’d do the same. My dad was a builder, in and out of work, I know what it was like for him, for us, and now for you. He did everything he could for me, he did right by me. College, university, accountancy, all of it. I’m just glad to be in a position where I can help people now.”- With a smile that he hasn’t felt etched on his face in a long time, Steven extends his gratitude- “And you have.”  

 Steven, deciding to keep the loan a surprise until it’s received, drives to the food bank, using coupons for a few days’ worth of food, posting the rest through letter boxes of families who needed them more. By chance, he again sees the homeless man from earlier that day, sitting on a sheet of cardboard in the doorway of a closed down shop. Steven kneels down and looks the man in the eyes, seemingly he has no recollection of Steven or the stop light- “Hey, the traffic light, thumbs up guy, remember?”- The man smiles from behind his greying bushy beard and nods. Steven continues “Here, hold out your hand. Take these coupons, I’m sorry that I haven’t got any money, but I will soon. If I see you again, how about some new shoes, eh?”- Steven looks down at the man’s hole riddled shoes, to which the man laughs. “Alright, see you later.” The two share a mutual thumbs up this time. Steven walks away, hoping that he will see that man again one day, perhaps when the loan comes in, perhaps not, but either way, he hopes it will be when he has money.  

 The day comes, having spent the last couple of days evading Pippa’s questions, on this morning, as he did every morning, Steven woke up next to his wife while she was still asleep. He runs his hand through her hair and then down onto her cheek, waiting for her to feel the weight of his gentle hand. And, on this morning, just as she did every morning, Pippa awakens with sleepy blue eyes that soon become electric blue. Smiling but sleepy, Pippa readjusts her head on the pillow, causing her long, brown hair to tumble over one side of her face, but Steven knows she’s under there- awake, alive and electric. A muffled voice speaks out from beneath the mounds of hair -“What time is it?” Steven strokes her hair over- “Time that you were awake. Come on, I have something to tell you.” This, he knew, would get Pippa’s attention in an instant. She leans on her side, resting her head on her hand, looking at Steve with those eyes- “Yes?” all too knowing but not knowing at all. Steven takes the same stance as Pippa and holds her free hand- “I got the money. For Brendan, for Emma, for you, everybody. For us. I took out a loan, but it’s worth it, whatever I have to pay, it’s worth the price of seeing you all happy. I did it because I want to take you away from all this, at least for a while. Remember Italy? You said you always wanted to go there, but things got in the way, well, now you can. You wanted to paint, but that was a dream you had to give up, because of me and because of your illness. When you’re well enough, feeling up to it, you can paint as much as you want. Paint the gondolas, see the Gallerie dell'Accademia. Whatever you want. Okay?” Pippa, despite everything, the years, the declining health, she knows again now why she and Steven have lasted through it all, she will know it through to Italy, she will know it through to the end. Having broken her hand away from Steven who was holding it, Pippa first waves her clenched fist in a seeming rage, but it simmers down to her placing her hand on Steven’s cheek, just as he did with her. With a quiet, on-the-brink-of-tears tone of voice, Pippa’s eyes do indeed become electric blue- “Yes, let’s go to Italy.” 

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